


Count Down

by BlueHedgehog



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Control Issues, EDNOS, Eating Disorders, Multi, Recovery, Relapse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-08 01:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11635656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueHedgehog/pseuds/BlueHedgehog
Summary: Prompto knows what this is about. He knows.





	1. Relapse

**Author's Note:**

> Full prompt: https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/3892.html?thread=5863476#cmt5863476

Insomnia falls. Prompto tries to make a call. It doesn't go through.  
  
Noct mourns his father, messy sobs into his pillow. Prompto holds him. It doesn't stop the tears.  
  
Noct is in pain. There is nothing he can do.  
  
Gladio confronts Ignis. Ignis confronts Gladio. Prompto intervenes when he can, but they keep pushing each other's buttons. It's like rolling a boulder up a hill.  
  
He pretends not to hear when they argue about him, question if he can _pull his weight_.  
  
The thought flashes through his head somewhere between shooting the whisker off a coeurl and just so _not_ dodging the counterattack: _too slow_ , and a familiar little voice, sharper than the electricity running through him, translates this to: _too heavy_.  
  
It keeps echoing when they put him back on his feet after the fight. It keeps echoing when they make camp, and when the smell of fresh curry wafts into the tent, it reverberates to: _too fat_ , and _It's not like you can_ do _anything about it, right?_  
  
Prompto knows that this is the point where he has to shut it down, find something else to take control of, something non-destructive. He knows what this is about. He knows.  
  
There is nothing else, though.  
  
***  
  
They say there is safety in numbers.  
  
Coconut oil, one tablespoon, 120 calories.  
Coconut cream, one tablespoon, 50 calories.  
Chickatrice leg, cooked, no skin, 100 grams, 110 calories.  
Sweet pepper, cooked...  
  
The list goes on. The numbers roll, and he adds, and he multiplies.  
  
Prompto looks at his plate, and he feels anything but safe.  
  
***  
  
The numbers roll, and he adds, and he multiplies, and when he is done, he substracts where he can. He doesn't have scales, but he does have a belt. He can still quantify his success and failure.  
  
He cannot avoid dinner on camp days, but he can make sure he fills his own plate. It's the same old, same old strategy of taking little and pushing it around. Nobody notices. Even if they cared, they would be too tired.  
  
***  
  
Prompto allows himself a few extra calories to make up for exercise. He is trying to keep things sane.  
  
The broad definition of "exercise" for his purposes is this: Any activity that burns calories that is not in his schedule, anyway.  
  
By that definition, hiking up a mountain in search for a tomb does not constitute exercise. Shooting, jumping, dodging does not constitute exercise. Running for his life does not constitute exercise.  
  
He doesn't get around to exercise very much, these days.  
  
***  
  
By the time he notices how cold he is, notices that his aim is off more often than not, notices that a slice of toast scares him more than a behemoth, it has already become second nature again.  
  
Prompto knows what this is about. He knows. He is not...  
  
He pushes the thought down, stuffs it deep into the closet, locks it, and hides the key.  
  
He _is_ in control.  
  
***  
  
He has lost track of the time they have been on the road, so his best measurement is this: three belt holes into their journey, he needs to sit down in a moment inconvenient enough for Ignis to have to catch him.  
  
Prompto will never be able to explain how dread and hope can be the same feeling. _Please don't see it. Please see it._  
  
Ignis holds him up, and freezes, and looks at him. Actually _looks_.  
  
He sees.


	2. Recovery

The first week is hell.

Prompto can barely make anything out of the tangled mess of emotions that come with everyone _caring_ , because _caring_ in this case means giving up to them the one thing he can control.

***

Ignis asks Prompto to help him cook, and Prompto knows he will not take no for an answer. He lets him make small choices - red or green curry, eggs easy over or sunny side up - and it takes the edge of the panic that comes with as much as handling _butter, unsalted, one tablespoon..._ His hand is shaking, and Ignis holds him for a moment, but he doesn't let him leave. He still lets him fill his own plate, and that, too, takes the edge off - but he watches.

Prompto doesn't know if to be grateful or furious, and somewhere in between those two, he finds himself crying at the drop of a needle.

***

He expects them to judge him for it, especially after all this talk about his usefulness to the group. Especially Gladio.

They sit by the embers left of last night's fire, and Prompto sobs into half a bowl of cereal he just cannot bring himself to finish. He has to, he knows. They're not breaking up camp until he does. "I can't--"

Gladio interrupts him, sharply. "Don't."

"This is so- weak..."

Gladio looks at Prompto, and his voice softens just a little bit. "Bullshit. If you were weak you'd have put that thing down and told me to suck it. Strength is: you get up one more time than you fall. And you? You're scary good at getting up. Don't stop now."

***

Noct is sitting on the floor of their motel room, wrapped around Prompto, pinning down his hands when all they want is to claw at the skin he needs to crawl out of; holding him down when all he wants to do is run and get rid of _it_.

***

The second week is not easy, but easier.

His body has energy to work with again, Prompto can contribute, and being able to hold a thought together for more than two seconds helps, too.

It helps reminding himself that there are things that he influences, controls. That counting his photographs overrides counting calories, that he needs to check on his guns, not his belt, and that making Noct laugh is more important than his guilt.

***

Eventually, Ignis' invitations to prepare dinner become optional. Prompto still takes them, more often than not.

He still freezes over the pan sometimes, adding and multiplying and subtracting.

There is always a hand, a word, a kiss to bring him back.


End file.
